HIDDEN TALENTS
by Maz101
Summary: "I never said I couldn't swim. I just said I choose not to." And that's not the only surprise from Danny Williams.  Drama, Hurt and Friendship.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: ****Not sure where this came from – maybe just frustration that we don't get to see Danny's talents (er...body!) enough. Also, I'm sure there's going to be a moment with Danny in the water before the end of the season and I felt a need to get in there first with a version of my own...**

**Disclaimer: Don't own it, won't benefit.**

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**HIDDEN TALENTS**

The impact was definitely satisfying. From a height of eight feet, one body landing upon another is likely to result in a solid blow. In fact, Steve was counting on it as he threw himself from the stack of containers that loomed over the walkway below, to send his target sprawling - crashing forwards onto his chest and face. Having had a softer landing, Steve was up immediately and, in one quick, fluid movement, kicked away the Sig automatic that flew from the man's flailing grip. Scrabbling to regain his feet, his opponent rose quickly to his knees only to be greeted by the wrong end of Steve's own weapon, held a steady six inches from his bloodied nose. Steve watched the fight leach from the gray eyes as the man's hands, torn up by splinters from the uneven boards of the jetty, were raised slowly to shoulder height in submission.

"Good call," Steve praised, as he grabbed the guy's right arm and hauled him sideways towards a mooring ring. Feeding his cuffs through the metal he snapped them closed around now submissive wrists before running his hands over the man's frame to check for further weapons and then leaning closer to growl into his ear.

"Do _not _move." The man shrank away from the low voice and settled uncomfortably onto his backside with an air of sullen resignation.

Turning away, Steve scanned the dockside behind him. His 200 meter sprint had been the result of a split second assessment as he and Danny spilled from their car following a high speed chase through busy downtown streets. Danny's familiar expletives over his driving skills still sounded as the two men had flung open their doors and, in unspoken agreement, taken off with guns drawn in opposite directions.

Three bank raiders, two pursuers – it was never going to be easy and even as he had chased his own man down Steve had registered a gunshot behind him and raised voices that were quickly lost in the rush of his successful capture. Now though, as he pounded back the way he'd come, Steve felt the early knots of anxiety when he realized his partner was nowhere in sight.

The jetty rose up steeply from the water's edge to the dockside and as he approached the top, a flash of white drew his eye to the long pier sticking out into the bay ahead.

Danny was sprinting down the length of the walkway, arms pumping, loose shirt billowing and blond hair flying as he raced towards the end. Steve couldn't seen the target of his efforts but from the pace of his thudding feet he sensed his desperation.

Following his partner at a distance, a small group of people were pointing and shouting. As his brain tried to assimilate the scene ahead, Steve tore passed a middle aged couple loaded down with bags, blankets and a cooler, frozen en route to their planned afternoon on the water. They too were watching the chase but, as he ran on, Steve heard the wife gasp in horror. "He's got a kid. Did you see, they grabbed a little boy. They've taken him...they're going to get away."

The roar of an engine filled the small bay and an aged day cruiser loomed out from the far side of the pier, its bow already lifting a little from the water as it nosed out towards the open sea. On its deck, silhouetted against the sparkling brightness, Steve could make out the shimmering outline of a man holding a child against his chest. Beck. His size and shape were clearly identifiable as those of the gang leader they'd been chasing. Brutal and vicious, the task force had been watching him and his men for days before the latest raid. Now he stood looking back at the dock and was raising a gun in the direction of Danny's rapid approach.

"**Danny!**" Steve bellowed his warning even as he heard the wayward shot ping a ricochet and then watched, awestruck, as his partner reached the end of the pier and without breaking his pace, launched himself into a perfect dive from the wooden structure into the water below. Streamlined, extended...a racing dive that caused barely splash.

Steve's heart jolted in shock. So surprised, he halted in his stride and held his breath as though it was he who had just plunged into the waves. A moment later he saw Danny's head break through the surface as he started a powerful overarm stroke in pursuit of the boat as it pulled away.

With no time to further consider what he could hardly understand, Steve spun around to the now slack-jawed couple as they stared over at the unfolding drama. Glancing down at a bunch of keys in the man's hand, he gestured at the small launch moored beneath them. "That your boat?" The man turned his surprised gaze towards him. Steve stepped closer and yelled his urgency. "**I said, is that your boat?**" "Yea...Yeah," the man stammered.

Steve reached out and grabbed the keys from his lax fingers. "Five-0 requisition," he called as he bent to release the mooring rope from a stubby bollard at the couple's feet. Ignoring the quayside ladder that led to the water, he instead leapt down onto the varnished deck below.

The boat bucked with his hard landing but he kept his balance and immediately threw himself to the small cockpit, slamming the ignition key into place and thrusting the throttle up hard.

The Hawaii Princess had never been treated so harshly. The little motor boat was used to gentle putterings around the coastline – never too far out to sea, never roughly handled in case her paint was chipped or the cocktails of her elderly owners were spilled. Now though she responded quickly and Steve felt the power surge as he whipped the wheel to the left, gunned the engine and headed off in the direction he'd last seen his partner...in the sea! Steve still couldn't quite believe it.

Danny swam hard with his head above water, building a powerful rhythm that pulled him through the gentle swell. His hands sliced through the water and his strong reach set up a smooth pace.

He knew he would be faster if he allowed himself to adopt a true racing style, with his face in the water and the trained breathing he knew so well, but he also knew, if he took his eyes off the boat, he might miss the moment he feared was sure to come. He couldn't risk missing where they dumped the kid as he knew they would.

He'd seen the two men grab the child as the boy gazed down, giggling, at the fish that drifted in kaleidoscope shoals beneath the pier's pilings. He'd heard the scream when they snatched him away from his family as they ambled along in the sunshine. The kid was simply a means to the mens' escape, a hostage against the threat of Danny's pursuit, but such cold, professional criminals wouldn't hesitate to get rid of him when they were far enough away.

As Danny approached the end of the pier his breaths had panted out a staccato beat of "NoNoNo" that matched his pounding footsteps and, as he took a breath and dove into the sea, his only thoughts were of saving the child.

Steve rounded the end of the pier and spotted the other boat some 800 meters away with Danny ploughing on through its wake. It was not a fast boat and optimism kicked in as he saw it should be possible to close the gap. But in the same moment Beck's head came up and Steve knew he'd been spotted. The guy's body stiffened and he pulled the child around to face Steve directly. From this distance he couldn't see the child's face but winced at the brutality as he was hauled about like a rag doll.

Beck turned his head to speak to the man driving the boat, then back towards the threat that followed them. Steve could only watch in horror as he hoisted the kid up high like a trophy then swung him around. Skinny splayed legs waved in the air like a fairground ride and then cartwheeled crazily as the boy was flung overboard like a fisherman's net cast out into the sea. His high scream of terror cut off abruptly as he disappeared underwater.

Danny saw the splash as the child hit the water, sinking immediately before spluttering to the surface with arms reaching up, desperate fingers clasping only at air. The dark head bobbed under, then back up again, gasping and crying. Once. Twice. Danny's vision tunneled to the panicked splashing. Beck's boat was pulling away but Danny barely noticed as he kicked on harder.

"NoNoNo!" The mantra rang in his head as he drew near, only to see the water close over the boy's head with no further struggle. It didn't reappear and fear gripped at Danny's heart as he realized he was still too far away.

From his distance behind, Steve also saw the boy go under, then watched Danny's desperate last strokes and his dive to where the rippling surface enveloped the young life.

Steve willed his boat on, fighting the horrified dread that he could not reach the scene in time.

Danny went down at the spot he'd last seen the boy. His clothing dragged against his strong pulls. His wide eyes stung with the salt and through the blurred green wash he could see nothing. Casting left and right for any sign of movement or for a glimpse of the red t-shirt the boy wore, he felt his lungs straining, then burning, and in despair turned towards the surface, breaking through with a whooping gulp for air.

A moment later he piked again into another dive and forced himself down once more.

Steve saw his partner pop up like a champagne cork, the sweeping arc of his blond hair throwing up a plume of jeweled droplets as he flung back his head to suck in oxygen before disappearing again.

Unconsciously he counted as he closed the remaining distance.

Ten seconds.

Twenty seconds.

He slowed the boat as he approached the spot.

Thirty seconds. .

He cut the throttle and turned to launch himself into the water too.

Forty seconds.

One foot on the side.

Fifty seconds.

A minute...

A geyser-like eruption ten meters ahead alerted him to Danny's return to the surface. Amidst the churning water he saw a small limp body clutched firmly to his partner's chest. The boy's head lolled back against Danny's neck as he used one arm to hold him higher while the other worked furiously to keep them both up.

Reaching into the cockpit, Steve gave one quick nudge to the throttle and deftly brought the boat to Danny's side. Leaning out as the vessel drifted closer, he scooped the child out of Danny's arms and, in a reverse replay of the moments before, hauled the boy's body up, landing it into the boat like a slippery fish.

His lips were blue, his eyes closed. Thin, limp limbs lay boneless on the smooth teak. Steve registered he could only be about seven years old. A life barely begun, now ended.

He lifted the chin to tilt the white face back, quickly feeling for a pulse in the stretched throat...nothing. He clamped his mouth to the boy's and blew two quick breaths, feeling the child's cheeks puff out as he received them. Expertly, he began compressions on the bony chest, barely registering the wild tilt of the boat as Danny hauled himself up and over the side to roll, exhausted, onto the cushioned bench seat behind him.

"Come on...come on...come on...come on..." Danny's whispered pleas filtered into the gentle throbbing chugs of the idling engine. He felt helpless now. Frozen in his failure. An ache gripped at his wildly beating heart. His chest heaved against the vice-like pressure of his fears, as his mind blanked out everything but the tragedy before him.

Two more breaths. Thirty more compressions.

Then finally, blessedly, a fountain of water shot from the boy's mouth. With a strangled cry he arched back into spluttering coughs and sobs.

Danny moved forward and quickly grabbed the bony shoulders to sit him up as more water spewed out. "That's it...that's it..you're OK now...you're gonna be OK," he crooned as he held the back of the child's head. Reaching back he snatched up a thick blue towel from the side and threw it around the boy. Steve relinquished his own hold and made room for his partner to wrap the child in his arms, lifting him up onto his lap and hunching around him in a hug.

Sitting back on his haunches, Steve watched as Danny soothed the child, rubbing his back and arms, looking into his face and encouraging him with quiet words. He could see Danny needed this as badly as the boy. The tension was leaving his friend's handsome face as the little body snuggled into a father's experienced embrace.

As the sobs subsided and the boy's struggles quietened, Danny eventually looked up. His hair, normally swept back, now hung down madly but, from under the tousled wet curtain, blue eyes shone brightly with relief and happiness. Smiling broadly, he nodded down at the boy. "Says his name's Dillon and I think he wants to go home now."

In that moment Steve wanted to hug the pair of them. Instead he gently lay a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Sure thing, Dillon. Let's go!"

His eyes met Danny's then, taking in the shirt, opened to the waist and plastered to his solid muscular frame. His much derided tie was, amazingly, still in place, although pulled way down and far askew. At least he'd lost his despised loafers and he sat now in a growing puddle. The effort of the swim and the stress of the rescue had left him still panting and racked by occasional shivers as his adrenalin levels moderated and he slowly fought to bring his emotions and exhaustion into check.

Steve shook his head, and rolled his eyes in disbelief.

"What?" Danny demanded, wrapping his arms tighter around the boy.

"**What?**" Steve was incredulous. Was his partner really going to pretend there wasn't anything to say here?

"Seriously? You're seriously going to say that to me?...what?"

"Don't start with me." Danny warned.

Steering the boat back towards the shore, Steve shook his head again and laughed aloud as the breeze sent Danny's hair flying. Still smiling, his brow furrowed into lines of utter disbelief.

"You said you couldn't swim!"

Danny raised a fore finger in a familiar wag of correction."No see, I _never_ said I couldn't swim …I just said I _choose_ not to."

Steve couldn't believe he was going to pretend this was no big thing. "Come on!" He cried in exasperation. "You call me Aqua Man...you never do anything but bitch about getting wet, making like you would dissolve in water, and then you pull something like that. You were like Michael Phelps out there!"

Danny ran frustrated fingers through his wayward quiff in a vain attempt to train it back into shape, then turned to his young charge with a conspiratorial and superior air.

"See Dillon...this guy here just can't stand not knowing _every_thing. About _every_one. This guy," he repeated with a hand gesture at his friend, "he thinks just 'cos he's my boss, I should have to tell him my entire history of athletic achievements...which are, in fact, many." He looked up at Steve with a smirk. "We _do_ have water in New Jersey you know."

Steve laughed at the absurdity of it. "Yeah, water with garbage floating in it, no doubt."

"Hey! What do you know? At least it's not pineapples."

"What?" Steve cast an arm at the blue waters. "Where are the pineapples...show me the pineapples out here!"

"Oh they're there alright...floating under the surface or something. Along with the sharks. It just ain't safe here!"

Steve knew it was hopeless. His partner would never accept the superiority of Hawaii's natural beauty over his beloved home state. At least, he'd never admit it.

Looking towards the pier, he pointed at the group that were gathered there. "Hey Dillon, looks like your Mom's waiting for you." The boy's face split into a wide smile and he wiggled his arms free of the towel cocoon to wave excitedly as Danny sat back with a mega-watt smile of his own.

Within fifteen minutes of landing Dillon had been whisked away in an ambulance to be checked over in hospital. His mother had dissolved into tears of gratitude and relief as Danny handed him up to her waiting embrace, waving away the thanks and doing his best to hide from the claims of heroism. He promised he'd check up on Dillon later. "After we go get the bad guys," he called with a wink and a wave.

Uniformed cops from HPD had released Steve's prisoner from the mooring and taken him away to be booked. The coastguard had tracked Beck's stolen escape boat to a bay four miles to the east and Kono and Chin were already on their way to pick up the trail. Steve longed for the chance to meet Beck face to face. Five-0 would be bringing that bastard down.

Danny leant against the car now, bare feet crossed nonchalantly at the ankles, as the warmth of the sun dried his clothes on his body. He wasn't about to admit it to anyone but his muscles were aching from the earlier exertion. It was a lot of years since he'd swum that hard and although high school team training might mean you never forget the skill, the swimming he did now - in a bay near his apartment, but _only_ when he knew none of his team would be around - had not fully prepared him for such a challenge.

Steve approached and smiled at the sight of him. "You know you look like a surfer dude with that hair." He reached over to flick affectionately at the salt stiffened strands.

"Hey!" Danny smacked the hand away and pushed off from the car, while still trying to tame the wild look. He moved towards the door and, with arms gesturing expansively, fixed his partner with a look of supreme defiance. "Laugh it up, man...for my next trick I'm planning on challenging Kono at Pipeline."

Steve grinned and clapped him on the back..._Yeah, he wouldn't put anything past him_... "Finally Brah! We just might make a native of you yet!"


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I thought the first instalment was going to be a one-shot but I was inspired by the thought of other talents.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own H5-0 and won't benefit.**

**(Sadly, don't own CSI either but one scene in this story has benefited from it.)**

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"**Hey! I got the idiot bit, thanks! Now please... please, just tell me how you speak Polish."**

**Another surprise for Steve but this time it leads the team into a situation that could prove deadly.**

The sickening smell of a week long dead body is not a good way to start the day. The cloying tang hit as soon as Danny entered the front door and thickened like an invisible cloud as he climbed the stairs. With each step he regretted the bagel he'd so hastily swallowed before leaving home and, as he entered the first floor apartment, he feared he just might be seeing it again before long. Here the stench was thick enough to slice. Hand held over his mouth and nose Danny stepped into the living area and found the source.

Sam Dunnatt did not look good.

Splayed on his back with a bullet hole glaring like a third eye, the inside of the guy's head was now on the outside, blood and brain matter sprayed up against the white wall and gathered in a black halo around the remains of his skull. The mouth still formed a grotesque pouting O and his eyes were open, opaque, dried and apparently also, somewhat surprised. His skin was already well mottled with decay.

Danny scanned the body quickly but averted his eyes from those other bodily emissions that added to the breathtakingly putrid fug that filled the room. Dressed in once smart, once pale coloured, linen pants and polo shirt, Sam looked like the once successful businessman the team knew him to be.

Car dealer, garage owner and known facilitator to the criminal world, Sam Dunnatt was a person of interest in the investigation that had been occupying Five-0 for the past ten days. Most interesting now though, was the question of what was he doing here. Dead.

The coroner's team, lingering like coy dancers at a prom, took to the floor eagerly as Danny stepped back with a nod. He left them to it and cast his gaze around the room. Pastel hues, modern furniture, tiled floors – a dining chair lay overturned but otherwise there was no sign of a struggle. No sign of anything that would give away who lived here, because they knew Sam didn't. No photos. No letters. A glance into the bedroom showed no clothing. Nothing to go on unless the CSI's could find something identifiable, but that would take time. Time they didn't have.

A last look around and Danny headed out past a young HPD officer standing guard by the door. He looked positively green..._the first of many, kid?..._Danny sympathised.

"They'll be a few more minutes yet," he advised him. "You know, you can wait in the hallway...and I'd keep the door closed, or the whole building's gonna need fumigating."

The rookie gratefully followed Danny out, pulled the door shut behind them, then leaned back weakly against the wall. Danny gave him an encouraging smack on the arm and hurried down the stairs. Fresh air never smelt so good as those first gulps on the white pathway outside.

Chin approached and smiled wryly at the blond detective. "Pretty gross, huh!" he said, waiting a moment for Danny to collect himself further, then gesturing at a couple of cops standing beside their patrol car. "They answered the call when the cleaner found the body...recognised his face from our APB and called us in. Seem happy enough for us to take it over," he added."

"No doubt," Danny agreed ruefully.

Looking around, Danny spotted Kono speaking to a group of curious neighbours. A couple more cops stood beside the crime scene tape, arms folded in boredom. The coroner's van waited on the driveway. But someone was missing.

"So, where's our fearless leader then?"

Chin nodded his head towards the side of the building and they set off together.

Steve McGarrett was getting precisely nowhere. The young woman seated before him was weeping uncontrollably in between unintelligible pleas and outbursts of hysterical incoherent chatter.

He took another calming breath and tried again. Stooping down to lean in closer, he locked his eyes onto her's with what he hoped was a look of earnest import that would break through their impenetrable language barrier.

"**Do...You... Know... His... Name?**" No matter how often he asked the same question, she gave the same blank look. _Calm...keep calm_, he told himself. But he could feel his muscles bunching with building tension.

"The man who lives in that apartment...**What... Is... His... Name?**" he practically shouted in her face, then threw his head back in frustration as she shrank away and gabbled out a tearful answer. In Polish.

Danny watched as his partner fought to control his annoyance and the girl dissolved into sobs once more. Pale and blond, she seemed to be barely beyond her teens. Her hands wrung around a tissue, fingers screwing it into a tiny, sodden knot of snot and tears.

With a glance at Chin and a slow shake of his head, he stepped forwards.

"You know," he began conversationally from just behind Steve's rigid back. "Asking questions **VERY LOUDLY** and verrry sloooowly just inches from her face is not going to help any." His mimicry was punctuated with a flourish of emphasising hand gestures.

Steve stood up and whirled to face him with a wide gesture of his own. "She is the only one who's met the guy who lives here. She might be able to lead us to Beck. We need answers, Danny!"

"Yes, Steve, we do." Danny agreed patiently. "However, talking to her like that will get you nowhere...it is threatening, not to say, condescending." He nodded at the girl. "She is a Pole, not a cretin."

Steve let out a hiss of annoyance and fixed his partner with a steely glare. "Yes, thank you, I realise she's a Pole, Danny, but unfortunately...we can't get a translator." His eyes drew down in anger. "And I don't speak Polish."

Danny regarded his friend for a moment then stepped around him.

"Allow me," he said as he moved to the seat and sat beside the girl, turning to her with a smile.

"Dzień dobry. Nazywam się detektyw Danny Williams. Mógłbym ci zadać parę pytań?" Danny spoke slowly and calmly, catching and capturing the girl's attention with friendly blue eyes that expressed concern and kindness.

Steve gaped. Literally felt his mouth fall open in utter astonishment as the girl gave a cry of what could only be relief and launched into more of what sounded to him like nothing more than a mixture of excited gargling and choking.

Danny was nodding in concentration... _and understanding!...What the Hell?_

Steve couldn't help himself. "Wha..wait!...You speak Polish? You're kidding me ..." He practically shouted his disbelief.

Danny held his hand up to the girl to quieten her before turning, somewhat irritably, towards Steve's amazed face.

"How? How do you speak Polish?" Steve demanded.

"Well, I'm pretty rusty I guess but...quite well, actually!" Danny stated with a smirk.

"No!" Steve exclaimed. "No, I mean, how _come_ you speak Polish?"

"Same way you speak Mandarin," Danny returned with a shrug. Standing up again, he pressed his palms together in that _this-is-important-try-to-follow-me-here_ gesture that Steve saw from his partner most days.

"Look, like you say, we need answers...she may have them...and I can get them." Danny punctuated each phrase with a downward chop of his praying hands. A pause, then he finished with a double handed shooing gesture in Steve's direction. "Now, just give me some space here would ya?"

With that he turned back to the girl and settled next to her once more, taking out his notebook and launching into more questions...in Polish.

Steve heard a snort of derision from Chin who had been watching the exchange with amusement and, yes, some incredulity of his own. They stepped back together and watched the pair on the seat - Danny occasionally holding up his hand to slow the girl's rapid fire delivery or dropping in a few indistinct and, to them, entirely indecipherable prompts. Under his gentle questioning, the girl became calmer and the tears dried. She was pretty in a thin, adolescent way - creamy, blemish free skin under the long strands of blond hair that were blowing loose from a pony tail tied at the nape of her neck with a scarf.

Finally, Danny rested a hand on her knee in a show of comfort and stood up.

"She's an illegal," he said as he approached his colleagues. "Only just nineteen...Name's Irina...came here on a visitor's visa and stayed on to work." He gazed back at the girl then looked around at the cops still waiting nearby.

"Hey!" He called to the nearest officer. "Could you get her a cup of hot tea somewhere?" The officer looked a little surprised. "Tea...not coffee." Danny then called over to Irina.

"Chciałabyś cukru do herbaty?"

The girl nodded and held up two fingers.

"Two sugars in it!" Danny yelled after the cop who was already on his way.

"Poor kid...imagine finding _that_ when you come to clean an apartment." He gestured with his head at the now bagged body being trundled on the Coroner's gurney from the front door and then loaded into the van.

Steve glanced at the activity but quickly snapped back to Danny. "So, then, Lech...did you get anything on who lives in this place?"

He was aware that he sounded irritable. He didn't mean to but really, he had to admit he was feeling it. His partner, the guy he spent most of his time with these days, the guy who gave every impression of having had a pretty basic _nothing special_ upbringing, had just outed himself as a linguist. Why had he not known this about him? It was just plain galling.

Danny raised his eyebrows a little at the tone and consulted his notebook with some deliberation.

"She said she works for an agency that's owned by a Polish couple. She's been coming here once a week for two months. She's met the guy who lives here only a couple of times...thinks his name is Don Walker ...or Walken...she wasn't sure." He tapped his pen on the lines he'd written. "I've got the address of the agency – they should have more details on him." He glanced up at Steve. "She's given a description ...if we don't get anywhere with the agency we need to get her to look at some mug shots or to work with a sketch artist."

Steve nodded in agreement and they watched as the cop returned from his errand, bringing Irina a brightly coloured mug that, even from their distance, the men could see also had I LOVE HAWAII emblazoned on its side and had clearly been borrowed from a nearby householder. _Ironic _Danny thought ..._doubt she's loving it so much now_. She clasped both hands around its warmth and looked over to Danny. In her shocked state, he was her oasis of calm and understanding and she evidently feared she was about to be abandoned.

"Look – we'd better take her with us to the agency," Danny said. "She needs some friendly faces and, if needs be, maybe they can then take her to HQ and stay with her. Otherwise, I'm gonna be babysitting all day."

Steve puffed out a sigh of irritation. He just wanted to get on with their hunt for Beck's gang. From three heists that put four bank workers in hospital and netted nearly $3m, to a subsequent child abduction and attempted murder, the guys they were hunting were clearly becoming more desperate. Every lead Five-0 had followed since losing them at Waiki bay …._Oh yeah, where Danny had revealed that yes, by the way, he could actually swim after all!...another little secret he'd been keeping!..._had ended in a dead end, and now a dead body.

Every contact they'd traced had come up empty so far. The three gang members still out there were too well known for violence to encourage informants on the street. The one member they had in custody had lawyered up immediately and was flat out refusing to talk or to give them anything, even with the offer of a deal. This body and this girl might just be their breakthrough.

He made a decision. "Okay, bring her along." He swung away, then turned back to Danny. "But don't think you're getting away without telling me how come you, a boy from New Jersey, can speak Polish at the drop of a hat." Before Danny could reply Steve set off for the car, leaving his partner to collect Irina, and her tea, and follow in his wake.

Fifteen minutes later, Irina's green eyes were flashing left and right in Steve's rear view mirror as she tried to understand the back and forth, quick fire, verbal assault that filled the air. She couldn't comprehend the words of the acerbic exchange but the tone of sarcasm and belligerence is multinational, and there was no sign of it abating...

"Oh...I get it...you just can't bear the thought that it's possible...just possible...that I could have some skill that you don't have...or that you don't know about. Mr SuperSEAL, Mr Controlfreak, Mr Ijustgottaknowitall, is all upset because this Joe-normal speaks something other than just good old English..."

"No...I am not upset..."

"You are...see, cos it's usually you who has everyone ooohing and ahhhing and you can't stand it that you were _failing_ back there, 'til I came to save your ass..."

"I was not failing..." Steve could feel the outrage of Danny's expression practically burn his skin. "Oh okay, I was...but that's so not the point..."

"Oh please, _do_ get to the point ...that would be good... I would so love it if you got to the point..."

Danny's hands were flying in their exasperation to adequately express his annoyance at his friend, his boss, his obtuse, obstinate and oh-so irritating partner. His shirt sleeves were being pushed higher and higher up his arms, which Steve recognised as some sort of barometer on the Danny Williams scale of pissed. He caught Irina's amazed expression in the mirror and grinned back at her reflection as he provoked further...

"You just don't seem the type..."

"Type? Type? And what sort of type is that exactly?.. You mean the clever-enough type? The culturally diverse type? The multi-lingual type? A glottologist? A polyglot?...What Steven?"

"Oh..You're a polyglot now? Isn't that lots of languages?"

Dan gave him his _duh_ look. "I speak Spanish too!"

A moment's silence followed this latest declaration, then Steve couldn't help but laugh aloud. It broke the spell and, as the two glanced across at each other, their glares changed into broad smiles and Danny turned in his seat towards their bemused passenger. He pointed at Steve.

"On jest idiotą!"

Irina laughed at his words and Steve didn't need to understand to know he'd just been insulted.

"Hey! I got the idiot bit, thanks! Now please... please, just tell me how you speak Polish"

Danny finally sighed with resignation and slumped back from the aggressive hunch he'd developed over the course of the journey so far. "It's really not that exciting. I'll have you know, there is actually quite a big Polish community in New Jersey – got fed up with Manhattan, got sensible and moved over the water. I had quite a few Polish friends as a kid. My high school had a modern thinking head and she decided it'd be a good idea, culturally and for the community's heritage, to set up an exchange programme... So, I spent a month in Krakow." The last words were accompanied with a simple-as-that gesture of opened palms.

_At last.._."Nice! Now, that wasn't too hard was it? Why couldn't you have said that half an hour ago?" Steve demanded. Danny shrugged and inclined his head into his own look of accusation.

"Why didn't you ever look in my file...it's all in there you know."

Steve was thrown for a moment. It was true – thinking about it now, he realised he hadn't ever really looked through Danny's file properly. He'd simply hijacked him for the new squad purely on a gut feeling that here was a good cop. Trustworthy. Honest. Brave. Nothing they had been through together since had changed that view except that he could now add, Friend. Good Friend. Yes, a week in, he had scanned the top pages of the file – noted the six commendations, numerous public citations, the high arrest rate, the details of injuries sustained in the line of duty...three bullet wounds, a six inch knife wound, a broken nose and ribs from a gang beat down...But, no, he hadn't delved further back to Danny's school days, to languages or, for that matter, to swimming.

Before Steve could respond, Irina pushed herself forward to lean between the two men and pointed to a building ahead. _Saved! _Steve pulled over, grateful that he didn't have to reward his partner with acceptance that, on this occasion, he was right.

The pleasant middle aged couple who owned the CleanUp Agency were shocked to have Five-0 investigators turn up, and more horrified still to have been caught out employing an illegal worker. Persuaded that they could perhaps ease the trouble they faced, Mr and Mrs Majav also turned out to be pretty helpful, quickly printing off all the details they had of the apartment's missing occupant, as well as a list of four other buildings they cleaned for him.

Leaving Irina in the motherly care of Mrs Majav, Danny and Steve left the building with new purpose, but not before Danny had suggested the girl's quick return to Europe might mean an avoidance of prosecution over her status in Hawaii. Once it was explained to her, the girl burst into tears once again, then quickly stepped up to give the blond detective a grateful kiss on each cheek and a whispered "Dziekuje" in his ear.

Steve was still smiling at the thought of his partner as the subject of a teenage crush as Danny called Chin and Kono with what they'd learned.

Within minutes Chin sent a picture of one Don Walken. Dark hair, brown eyes, 6ft tall, a bodybuilder and sometime mercenary. Under a known alias, he was also a certified pilot. His rap sheet from the mainland included involvement in violent armed assaults and robberies, during which two people had been killed and two more left injured. He was dangerous. No clear picture of how or when he'd come to the Islands but he'd been here long enough to become the registered tenant of properties including two small business units, a packing plant and a couple of apartments. In his case, crime apparently paid well and it seemed he'd found a new team to run with who clearly shared his inclination to brutality. Beck and his gang needed to get away from Hawaii – Walken could be their way out and, judging by the stinking souvenir he'd left behind, it looked as though he'd be leaving too.

Consulting the GPS, Steve identified two of the properties within ten miles of where he and Danny now stood. His pulse began to quicken with the prospect of finally making progress.

The first place was a wash out. Boarded up, and clearly abandoned, the unit was empty. A scout around the outside showed no activity. A shouted warning, then Steve raised a foot and kicked in the door. Empty boxes stacked against the walls were the only sign that any business had ever happened there – no useful paper work to follow up, no handy telephone even. The Five-0 team wasted no further time and moved on.

In his experience in some of the world's hotspots, Steve had developed a keen sense of danger. In his years as a cop and a father, Danny had developed a keen sense of self preservation. Now of course it had to extend to _idiotic, gung-ho, let's-just-get-going_ Steve McGarrett. Danny found himself cursing his partner ._.again..._under his breath as the pair quietly exited the Camaro. Danny hissed out a low whistle and lobbed Steve's vest at him. Hard. Both finished fastening their velcro without breaking stride, as they jogged to meet Kono and Chin at the wire perimeter fence ahead.

It was immediately clear to all of them that the packing plant in Hauula was the place they were looking for. It was also clear they could not afford to wait before going in.

The double doors of the windowless corrugated iron building were wide open to reveal a car parked inside. An SUV stood outside with its trunk open as two men loaded in canvas holdalls. Shadowy movements showed at least two other people inside. Crouched behind vegetation at the entrance to the dirt track leading to the building, the team saw a familiar figure step to the doorway.

Through binoculars Steve recognised Vince Beck. The man he addressed was also now clearly identifiable.

"That's definitely Don Walken," Danny whispered as he checked the photo that Chin had sent to his phone earlier. "And that's Morden." He pointed to the second guy straightening up from the rear of the SUV. He was the third known member of Beck's crew – a career criminal who followed Beck around like a dog.

"Engine's running – we've got to move," Steve muttered. Danny felt a familiar coiling anxiety. They'd called it in, requested HPD back-up, but they were a way out and there would be no cops here in time. Even he accepted it was now or never..._Damn!_

The moment the gang moved inside the building, the four divided into pairs and ran the short distance down the driveway, taking cover where they could as they darted forwards in sort bursts. Ten meters out, with panting breaths they allowed themselves another moment of assessment behind a rusted shipping container, and then set off once more.

At Steve's silent instruction, Chin and Kono headed around the eastern side of the building, halting momentarily at the corner before disappearing from the others' view. Steve pointed to himself, then the left side of the doorway and gestured Danny to the right. Danny nodded his understanding and watched as his partner made his run first, peered into the darkness and gave a thumbs up. Ducking low, he sprinted to the opposite side, looked back to Steve and, on a finger count of three, they ducked into the gloom together.

Inside, it took a moment for their eyes to adjust. Each moved slowly, backs to opposing walls, slipping behind packing crates, each instinctively aware of the other's movements even as they zeroed in on the men ahead.

Beck, and Morton were standing over a table towards the rear, consulting a map. Walken was nowhere to be seen. Looking up, Danny noted a high metal walkway and door above that could only lead outside..._possible escape route_...he thought, as he scanned the staircase and dark recesses of the cluttered space in front of him.

Steve's own advance was blocked by machinery. He crouched low and inched along it towards the centre of the unit, eyes constantly scanning for the missing gang member, or others, while also trying to keep tabs on Danny's progress. He could no longer see his partner but knew he would act on his lead when the right moment came – they still had the element of surprise in their favour.

A loud stutter of gunfire from outside ended that.

Beck and Morton whirled around, grabbing at their weapons and firing immediately, even as Steve shouted Five-0's presence and an order to put them down. His voice was lost in the explosion of noise that followed. In the enclosed metallic space, the percussion was deafening, the air vibrating with the echoing, bouncing blasts.

Steve had an instant to register the rapid flash of muzzles and ducked back as he felt the breeze of a near miss pass his face. Danny opened fire from the darkness to his right, keeping low and moving fast, the rapid retort of his Sig adding to the thunderous assault. Taking advantage of his partner's covering fire, Steve braced and stood, firing towards where he'd last seen Beck. A movement ahead sent him tucking into a roll that saved his life and brought him up behind the table. Tipping it over, he crouched there as all his training screamed at him of the danger his team were in. Two assailants; one unaccounted for; an unknown threat outside.

Danny caught Steve's actions in his periphery and broke his fire to drop his now empty clip and slam in a new one. Sweat trickled down his face and he felt more on his back as noise from shots outside and within filled the air. Splinters flew from a crate at his side. At least he knew where Morton had gone. Taking a breath, he slid out of his cover and flung himself at the next pile of boxes..._canned pineapples?_ Danny registered a brightly coloured picture of the contents even as his shoulder connected with the stack, toppling it onto Morton's hiding place. Using the momentum he rose on feet braced wide apart as the guy scrambled for his gun.

"**Don't...**" Danny warned, but Morton was already firing wildly even as he clambered to his knees. Danny had no time for careful aim, or even to see exactly where his three rapid shots hit, he just knew they had when Morton crashed sideways into the spilled and spinning cans.

Danny immediately sought further cover. Making a crouching turn he headed for the rear of the sedan parked in the middle of the floorspace but before he'd taken two steps an explosion of pain threw him backwards with the force of what felt like an express train. A white flash of agony consumed everything about him, fading and dissolving towards blackness.

As Steve returned Beck's fire he registered his partner's momentary exposure in the same instant as he saw him jerk with the impact of a shot, to land with a sickening thud that he heard even above the firefight.

"**Danny!**" _...Not moving...he's not moving..._From his distance, amidst the shots blasting and rattling around him, Steve couldn't make out where he'd taken the hit - Could only see Danny lying spread-eagled, with his face turned away and absolutely, terrifyingly, deathly still.

But there was no time to look, no time to register the shock, no time to grieve.

Shots rang out from the darkness beyond his prone partner and Steve was now caught in a crossfire, the target of the illusive Walken as well as Beck. Alternating his own fire between his attackers, he knew his chances were running out as quickly as his ammo. This whole operation was blown to hell..._Danny, I'm so sorry_...

Even as Steve fought the weight of terrible responsibility pressing in on him, training and instincts kept an unconscious tally of his own shots in his head. He had only two more on the current clip..._they're for you Beck!..._raising himself up onto a knee, he fired, fully expecting to feel the blow of a bullet in the back. How could it not happen? But it didn't. As Beck slumped over, dead, another shot rang out, but it wasn't Steve who felt it. Dropping to his side and turning back, he watched as Walken was held frozen before him like a marionette, a look of pure astonishment on his face.

As he fell flat, Steve saw Danny beyond, raised up enough to hold his gun in a firm grip, to take the shot that saved Steve's life. In the sudden silence that fell, their eyes met with a look of grim satisfaction before Danny slumped back once more.

A quick glance to confirm Beck really was no longer a threat and Steve was leaping wreckage and debris to drop to his knees beside Danny's head, glad to see his partner's blue eyes gazing up at him. He still clutched his weapon in his right hand as his arm lay draped over his chest.

"Hey, hey, I'll take that for you shall I?" Steve slipped the gun from Danny's lax fingers.

"You thought I was dead didn't you?" Danny's voiced sounded weak but amused in his accusation. Quite pleased with himself apparently. He gave a small huff of laughter that ended in a wince of pain. Steve glanced at the hole in his Kevlar vest. He'd taken shots himself while wearing body protection and knew Danny could easily be suffering bruising or even a broken rib.

"Admit it – I am a great actor."

"Oh yeah, a real star," Steve praised wryly. He noted Danny's face looked extremely pale and moved to loosen the velcro fastenings at the side of his friend's vest so he could check the damage, sliding his hand inside. "You're an idiot, you know that," he muttered fondly.

"**Steve?...Steve?**" Chin called loudly from above as he stepped through the upper doorway onto the suspended walkway overhead, immediately adopting a stance braced for further trouble. A shaft of bright sunshine from outside cut through the gloom like a spotlight.

"**All clear in here!**" Steve called back, turning to wave in confirmation.

"You hurt?" Danny's whispered query drew his attention back. His partner's eyes were staring at the hand he'd withdrawn for the acknowledgment.

"Nah!...I'm fi..." He froze then as he followed Danny's confused gaze. His hand was slick with blood. Covered..._ shit!..._

"Jesus...no!" Steve scrabbled frantically at the vest once more and immediately became aware of a growing dark wetness spreading around his knee at Danny's side.

"**They had two guys standing guard...** **They had assault rifles... AK47's.**" Steve registered Chin's shouted update even as he ripped open Danny's vest, flinging it wide like a book telling a horror story.

"Oh Christ!" Steve gasped at the blood soaked mess beneath. "No...no..no..." He slammed his hands over the dark wound pulsing crimson from the left side of his partner's lower chest, pushing down hard against the warm wetness.

Chin saw the change in his boss, only now registering Danny's prone figure as he clattered down the metal stairs. Steve turned to address him over his shoulder, trying to control the instinctive panic he felt, even as his mind reeled back to the gunfight - amongst the cacophony of rounds that had exploded around them, there had been a recurring and reverberating slapping - a sound he knew from wars but hadn't expected or planned for here.

"I got blood," he hissed. "Steel core round went through the vest...we need a chopper medivac...**now!**"

Chin heard the fear in Steve's voice and was on the phone immediately – medics were already en route for the surviving prisoner they'd taken outside but, judging by Steve's reactions, a faster response was needed to save Danny. As he relayed the information, Chin cast around for something to help stem the blood he could see already squeezing out from between Steve's fingers.

"I played Hamlet once you know...In my senior year." Danny's voice cracked slightly as he gritted against the pain that seemed now to be blossoming, building and spreading outwards from his centre. Everything around him was blurring, mixing into the vortex of swirling dust motes that danced in a stream of yellow brightness. He concentrated on Steve's face above him, tried to focus on normal. If he could just hang on to normal this might not really be what he knew it was.

"Hamlet huh?" Steve entered into the desperate charade, trying to keep his voice light but it quivered with the dark dread that was building. "Figures … there's another guy who always liked the sound of his own voice." He tried a grin but his mouth was dry and rigid in a tight line of anxiety.

Danny managed another huff of amusement and a raised eyebrow of appreciation..._good one..._before a gasp of agony took his breath and he arched into a cough that ended in a groan..._Oh God...hurts...God, it hurts... _He tasted copper and closed his eyes against the pain but Steve leaned in and the urgency of his voice forced them open again.

"Hang on, Danny...I got ya...I got ya, man...help's coming..."

Danny's look held desperation now. Steve realised he'd never seen his partner afraid before. Not really. Sure, he'd seen anxiety, and plenty of outrage. Anger and accusation was common, and _"Are you crazy?"_ and _"Let's not_ _do this – it's dangerous,"_ but never truly scared. However, he _had_ seen this look on others – in war zones, at scenes of carnage, on the faces of servicemen, comrades, who felt the tendrils of something terrifying taking hold and pulling them away.

Danny's eyes were beginning to glaze and a tear slipped from beneath his lashes to trickle slowly along the familiar crease of a laughter line, sliding back into his blond hair.

"Hey...hey...Stay with me" Even as he glanced down to his hands and registered the blood flowing over them, adding to the pool that now soaked into the knees of his cargos, Steve sought desperately to keep his friend conscious. "Hey...hey...so, so this Hamlet, huh...d'you get good reviews? Danny!...Were you a good Hamlet?"

Blue eyes fought to focus on the voice ..._Steve, help me...Hamlet?..._"Ye...yeah...lo...local paper...s-said I...w-w-was very...e-expressive..." His hand raised slightly in a weak movement - a pathetic echo of his usual characteristic. There was a coldness climbing and numbing his limbs, creeping and squeezing and invading his fading awareness.

Steve felt movement at his side and Chin appeared, pushing a wadded towel under his hands. Danny cried out at the new pressure and Steve heard the gasp of another voice. Having secured the scene outside, Kono had heard radio responses to Chin's call for medical help. For a moment she could barely take it in.

Danny's breaths were coming in short, ragged sips now as blood stained his teeth and collected at the corner of his mouth. His eyes were hardly focusing. Blinking slowly, the lids stayed closed longer each time and he was muttering incoherently – something about a school play? Something about the rotten State of Denmark? Slings and arrows..._God ...was I shot with an arrow?_ ..._hurts_ ... As she stood rooted to the spot, Kono struggled to understand anything but his desperation and pain.

In the mixed up jumble of swirling thoughts, snapshots he couldn't quite capture, Danny snatched at a moment of indignant clarity."Damn v-v-vests...c-campai...d...fo..for...b-bet-ter vests...i-in...New...J-Jersey..."

Steve was hunched low to his mouth to hear him. "Why does that not surprise me?" His whispered reply broke a little in his throat.

With his head he gestured for Chin to take over the pressure on Danny's chest and moved his own bloody hands to take hold of his partner's face. It was covered with a sheen of sweat, glistening beads collecting and rolling backwards into the blond quiff. His skin was cool, clammy, practically white.

Placing his palms on either side of Danny's brow, he tried to push strength into him. Thumbs stroking into his hairline. He was scared. "Danny!...Hold on for me...you got to hold on for me...and Gracie...hold on for Gracie, Danny. She needs you buddy ….stay here for Grace, Danny..."

At the sound of his daughter's name Steve saw a flicker of recognition and with an effort, Danny's eyes sought his own.

"Grace." It came out as a breath..._Gracie...Gracie...I need to stay for Gracie _...he clung to the name in his head like a lifeline. Through a mist of smothering, building, suffocating darkness, Danny saw his friend's face nodding encouragement. And then...nothing.

The sound of sirens invaded the quiet, building as four patrol cars drew nearer. Kono turned to meet them, but stopped as voices came over the radio and she ran back.

"The chopper's just one minute out," she called. "It diverted from a coastguard exercise on the north coast."

Steve looked up to the brightness of the open doors and recognised a clattering that now punctuated the growing clamour beyond. Placing his hands over Chin's once more he nudged him with his elbow. "Go secure a landing site – I've got him," he ordered quietly. Chin glimpsed the desperation in his boss's face and relinquished his hold on the blood sodden towel to run out towards the open air.

"They're here, Danny. They're here – not long, not long," Steve muttered over and over as he concentrated solely on the shallow rise and fall beneath his hold, stopping only when the medics raced in to take over minutes later.

Steve felt utterly helpless as he stepped back and watched them battle for Danny's life. His own breathing stopped as they placed an oxygen mask over his mouth and rattled off their urgent assessments - pulse weak and thready...120 BPM... Blood pressure 60/50 and dropping... "must have hit an artery"...Sitting back, one of the men waved the team forward to help lift Danny onto the stretcher. "He's hypovolemic – we gotta scoop and run...Take this." He handed Steve a bag of fluid and gathered up the oxygen, his eyes never leaving his patient. "Let's go!" No time for enquiries or thought as Chin took one end of the stretcher, the second medic took the other, and they ran, Danny bouncing limply between them.

Stooping low under the still turning rotors, the group loaded the stretcher inside the bright red Eurocopter. "Room for one!" The shouted invite came from the pilot watching over his shoulder and Steve leapt in after the others, taking a seat in the rear corner near Danny's head as the door was slid shut. A familiar surge rippled through him as they lifted off. He glanced at his watch automatically but realised he couldn't immediately recall when this nightmare had begun, if they were within the so-called golden hour of survival. Looking at Danny he tried to believe it would make a difference.

The medics gave him no attention, bent instead over his partner, passing information over the radio and between each other. He had no headphones and only snippets filtered through the din of the engine...BP 60/45...breaths 28 and shallow..._Oh God, Danny, don't do this, don't ...please.._.In the space between their frantic movements, Danny's hand had slipped off the edge of the stretcher and hung limply. Steve grabbed it with both of his and squeezed, hanging on to the life he feared he'd lost. His vision blurred with tears and he tipped his head back to clear them, catching sight of a brightly painted name plate fixed onto the bulkhead behind the pilot's head.

"Haliola"... it translated as "Lift up and carry life" - They'd named the helicopter for its role but Steve found himself whispering it now as a prayer.

* * *

**A/N Many thanks to Pondera for the corrected Polish translations!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: So, what started as a one-shot to satisfy my own Danny-centric fantasy, has turned into a kind of three-shot. ****It's somewhat lacking in any real plot (at least not of the sort I enjoy in others' writing) and, in this chapter, there's a distinct lack of action (it's a hospital, folks). But, as a string of scenes and revelations, I hope you will enjoy.**

**I've done my best to be accurate but apologies here for any medical or weaponry errors.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own it, can't claim anything at all.**

* * *

"**Funny, Danny always says it's him who comes up short."**

**Steve wanted to believe it could all make a difference. In Grace he found a partner in determination.**

* * *

"No, no. Not like that. It has to be growly. And gruff. And you're going too fast."

Steve McGarrett was as used to taking orders as to giving them, but being told what to do by an eight year old was something new. Grace was as determined as any admiral on a mission.

"You have to make your voice all low...kind of scratchy. And not posh. Daddy says Hagrid is like my Mom's cousin in England. He says he's not fancy like Grandma 'cos he likes beer and lives on a farm. He says he's like a sheep."

"Who? Hagrid? I thought he was a magic biking giant." Steve was having trouble following his charge's irritated instruction on the characterization of her favorite book. Grace rolled her eyes at him.

"No, not Hagrid silly, Mom's cousin."

"He's a sheep?"

"Daddy says he's the family's sheep. He says that's why he liked him. He met him once and he says he's just like him and they could be a flock together, 'cos he likes beer too. And he likes making Grandma cross." Her words were flowing quicker and quicker as she stared up into Steve's face with an intense expression that made his stomach lurch suddenly with recognition of Danny's genes in her young face.

Understanding dawned. "You mean he's a black sheep...This cousin, is the black sheep of the family?" He waited for her nod. "And your dad thinks he is too?" Another nod. "And he sounds like Hagrid should sound." This time Grace sighed deeply and inclined her head in impatience.

"Problem is Grace," Steve reasoned, "I've never met the guy and I'm really not that great at doing voices." He hesitated at the frown of disappointment that crossed the girl's brow, then hurried on. "But I'll give it a go, okay...just bear with me, I'll work on it."

This seemed to satisfy her and Steve adjusted his hold on the book to make extra room as she settled back against him expectantly. He took a deep breath and tried to channel Hagrid once more, lowering his voice, dropping some h's and sounding to his own ears less like a farmer but more like Dick Van Dyke in that old kids' movie about a singing nanny. Mary Poppins to Harry Potter, it seemed the appeal of magic didn't fade with the generations.

Glancing up to the still form of his partner, so pale and still in the bed opposite them, Steve couldn't help but wish for a little magic himself.

_It sounded like a radio was playing somewhere. In a distant room perhaps. Voices, too far away to understand or even to hear properly. A background mumble just out of reach or recognition, rising and falling with the irregularity of a shifting signal from an old fashioned wireless. The reception erratic and broken._

_Yet, it was comforting somehow. Danny drifted amidst an overwhelming emptiness but the sounds, those voices, prickled in the static of his unconsciousness._

"You know, you're really doing rather well." Steve turned towards Rachel's soft voice.

She was leaning against the open doorway of Danny's ICU room smiling down at Steve as he arched his back against the painful crick of sitting too long in the uncomfortable chair.

"I was listening in... I'm sorry." She shrugged and her eyes drifted over to her former husband. "Of course, you'll have to accept that, for Grace, you'll never be as good at it as her Daddy, but you're not doing badly at all." There was sadness in her look. "His Scottish accent is pretty bad too actually but, for Grace, that is now just how it's supposed to be."

Steve's eyes followed her's to his partner and he smiled too. "I served with a Scots commando once, real tough guy – I think he'd be pretty horrified to imagine that his voice is now my model for Professor McGonagall."

"Hmm, well just as long as you know it will _never_ be as good as Danny's to Grace. Nothing anyone else ever does is...it drives Stan mad sometimes." She moved forward to stand beside the bed and reached out as if to brush a strand of hair from Danny's brow, but caught herself and pulled back, dropping her hand to her side again.

Watching from his seat, Steve could see the mixed emotions on her face. Regret, concern. And, Steve was certain, still love too.

"Funny, Danny always says it's him who comes up short." He laughed softly at the memory of Danny's own self deprecating choice of words. The way he'd quirked his brow at his own use of a phrase that so many had thought so clever and funny before.

Steve remembered a conversation from a month ago when Danny had booked tickets to take Grace out on a glass bottomed boat, only to find Stan had taken her on a mini submersible trip to the reef the previous weekend...

"We saw some of those flat, flying things..." Danny was recounting the day as he drove the Camaro back towards the Five-0 headquarters. Leaning one arm against the open window, he had the familiar air of a man stewing with indignation. Steve had been waiting to learn what it was about.

"Rays?" Steve had prompted.

"Yeah, rays. What are those things? I mean, they are not fish...you can't tell me those are fish. I may not be from round here but I know what a fish looks like, and those are no fish...they should have a different name entirely. See, that's what's wrong with this place," Danny had gestured a thumb towards the apparently offending landscape as they drove. "It's like living in a freaking nature show. At least in a city you know what you're going to meet on the street."

"There are more than a few freaks on the streets too." Steve teased quietly and Danny gave him a sideways look.

"Well, yeah, but they're _dry_ freaks. At least they're _human_ freaks... and not likely to take a chunk out of your leg." He pondered for a moment. "Although, there was this one guy on my old beat who had a thing for hiding in dumpsters and leaping out on young women...he used to bite their inner thighs...when we got him, he said all he wanted was to taste _feminity_." He let go of the steering wheel for a moment to make exaggerated quotey fingers in the air, but spoke as if this was the most normal thing in the world.

"You do know rays don't bite, don't you?" Steve asked mildly.

"Says you! I have a daughter to keep safe. You can't be too careful, man."

"I bet Grace loved it didn't she? Didn't matter to her that she'd gone down before in a sub did it?"

Sometimes, despite all Danny's combative talk, Steve knew he needed a bit of bolstering.

"Nah!" Danny sighed, then rallied with a smirk. "I told her Stan's sub was a cheap option – told her it was a boat that had sprung a leak and sunk. I think she bought it!"

They'd laughed then but now, staring at his friend, Steve was brought back to their painful present.

"He finds that competition really hard, I think," he said.

Rachel pursed her lips and was silent for a moment but when she spoke it wasn't really to Steve at all.

"He's a great father."

With that she turned and headed out to catch up to Grace.

Danny's daughter had been a fairly constant companion to Steve for the last four days, since the ventilator keeping her father breathing had been removed. It was seen as a good sign, but Danny's doctors were still tentative in their assessments and their checks and tests were just as constant.

Having lost so much blood in the shooting there was still serious concern for his kidney function and his heart. There was talk of a persistent low grade fever, post operative infection, long term implications, possible permanent damage. Talk Steve tried his best not to dwell upon.

The surgical repair had taken nearly eight hours. Eight hours that Steve had endured in something of a stupor of helplessness. He was a man of action, used to taking command, used to having answers but during that terrible helicopter ride he'd felt utterly useless as the medics shocked his partner back to life and he'd felt a cold despair settle over him.

_***Eight days ago***_

Steve watched the red rivulets flowing and swirling in the basin. His hands and arms were gloved in Danny's blood, painting the beds of his nails, clinging to the hairs, staining and flaking in the creases of his skin.

In the hanging moments of silence after the emergency team had crashed through the double doors that would take them straight to the operating theatre, Steve had only slowly become aware of the eyes of passers by in the corridor outside. They avoided him with sympathy and he looked down at himself. Without their grip on Danny's life, his arms were now heavy, hanging loose and bloody. He was left alone and it was several minutes before he could move towards the washroom. Looking up into the mirror, he registered tiny droplets of blood on his face too, the fine spray from Danny's lips as he fought to live.

Steve bent low and splashed hot water over his skin, trying to wash away the recurring images and the sick feeling that filled his core.

"_Danny...not Danny...why Danny_?" He tried to shut off the voice that repeated and repeated in his head, swirling around like the blood stained dregs in front of him.

Chin and Kono joined him in the bland, yellow-painted waiting room a few hours later, settling in to sit quietly, noting the changes that had overtaken the Commander. Steve's face was grey and drawn – the tightness of worry etched into a frown, emotions held in check but clear to his team.

Chin caught Steve's eye.

"Scene's cleared," he said. "Seems the gang were planning on flying out from a landing strip at Makaha. Those bags we saw contained at least a couple of million." Chin relayed the information in a low voice. In this setting it seemed unimportant but it was a victory. Something good had come out of all this.

Chin continued, doing his best to distract Steve's anxiety. "It's not clear yet where the rest of it is, but there was enough paperwork for us to trace it. Looks like Beck established an account. Some of it will have gone to pay for the aircraft, bribes, and whatever set-up they were heading for."

"They had quite a haul of weapons there," he added. "AK47's ...semi automatic pistols as well as the rifles."

Steve nodded but remained silent.

The quiet enfolded them into an oasis amongst the bustle of the hospital as the minutes and the hours ticked by. Finally, a doctor in theatre greens appeared at the door.

The guy looked weary and, Steve noted immediately, he was not smiling. He held out a small plastic bag. Inside, an M43 bullet, its sharp point hardly damaged, its case hardly dulled, washed clean of Danny's blood, bone and tissue.

Steve took it and turned it over in his hands. In his former career, he'd seen thousands of such rounds before, perhaps tens of thousands. They were the preferred ammunition of terrorists, insurgents and criminal gangs the world over. The tungsten carbide alloy tip was designed to pierce soft body armor. Designed to pierce flesh. A marvel of efficient destruction.

Steve felt nauseous as his knuckles whitened into a tight grip. He used the sensation of the metal edges, digging into his palm, to focus as the surgeon relayed details of Danny's condition.

"The bullet entered the fifth intercostal space," he gestured to the area on his own ribcage to illustrate. "It collapsed his lung and lacerated the pulmonary artery. We've repaired it with a graft but there was a lot of damage...broken ribs..the intercostal artery too...And, as you know, serious blood loss."

The doctor paused to allow them to absorb the information before going on. "Your friend is in recovery now, I'll take you to see him soon, but you should be aware, his condition is still critical." His tone and his look both conveyed the meaning of what he hadn't said specifically..._He might not make it_...Steve swallowed back the bile that rose at the thought.

Danny was hardly visible amidst the machinery and tubing keeping him alive..._So still!_... Nothing of his usual ebullience. Nothing of his noise. Nothing of his usual colorful presence. He seemed to have shrunk..._Oh, dear God_...To Steve, he looked dead. His chest rose only with the insistent hiss of the ventilator, its tube held in place with a strip of tape, pulling the side of his mouth slightly out of shape.

His skin was the color of the pillow under his head, sallow and almost translucent.

Steve had seen men injured before. Killed too. Men who were his responsibility, men he'd lived and fought with. But somehow this seemed so different.

In the past year, perhaps while laughing in a bar during an end of case celebration, or sitting in a beach chair and sharing a beer at sundown on the waters edge behind his house, Steve had caught himself wondering at the changes that had come over him since returning to Hawaii and settling into this new life, this new family. Because that's how his team was to him now – more than friends, more than partners.

His closeness with Danny came not only from the time and dangers they shared but also from the two way street of learning about him and allowing him into his own life.

In his previous career, Steve had never felt the need to share – now he had discovered it opened the way to a certain level of contentment. Sure, it could be knocked off course by a case, by a personal crisis here or a clash of priorities there but, even so, their friendship felt dependable and deep.

"_Come on buddy...you can't leave us now."_

He steeled himself against the feelings that threatened his composure, grinding his jaw until a pulse throbbed visibly in its line, mirroring the bouncing EKG reading displayed over Danny's head.

At his side, Kono quickly brushed away a traitorous tear, fighting to keep her composure and the desire to turn and run. It was so hard to see Danny this way.

"You called Rachel?" Chin's voice was low but it broke through Steve's reverie.

"Er...yeah..." Steve's answer betrayed something of the devastation he'd felt at making that first call.

He sighed and ran his fingers back through his already rumpled hair. "I need to let her know he's out of surgery. She wasn't going to say anything to Grace until there was news. I guess she may still want to wait.."..._how do you tell a little girl she may never see her dad again...Christ!_

"Do it from home," Chin suggested. "You need to change, get cleaned up, get some rest." He looked pointedly at the patches of dried blood that covered the lower part of Steve's cargo pants, and the blackened stains on the rolled up sleeves of his shirt. "They won't let you stay here in ICU," he warned.

Steve nodded once in acknowledgment and Chin knew then, without a doubt, that he would be back here just as soon as he could. The ICU staff would be losing that particular battle.

***_Four days ago_***

Rachel had allowed Grace to visit only once the most invasive equipment had been removed from Danny's body. A nasal cannula now replaced the ventilator.

His doctor explained they were slowly weaning him off the drugs that had so far kept him in an induced coma – treading the fine line between allowing his body time to reclaim its functions while not overburdening its damaged parts. The fever remained and he still showed no signs of waking.

Grace was silent the first time Rachel brought her in. Stiff with fear, her brown eyes huge in her pale face..._God, Danny, how did you make something so beautiful, brah..._ she clung tightly to her mother's hand as she stepped closer and Steve's heart ached for her when tears spilled and dripped off her cheeks.

They dried though as Danny's doctor explained in quiet, simple terms that, yes, her Dad was very, very sick but that, even though he wasn't moving, even though he seemed not to know about anything around him, it was just_ possible_ some part of his brain would register if people spoke to him.

In his own almost constant vigil since this nightmare began, Steve had been trying to break though to his partner. Initial reticence had quickly given way to a grip on his hand, still so limp, to a touch on his arm that stayed in place as an imagined conduit to strength.

He had held one way conversations – imagining Danny's responses and deliberately baiting him on topics designed to annoy his partner into consciousness. One young nurse had been particularly surprised to hear Steve threatening to add a liquidized pizza, complete with ham and pineapple, to the intravenous drip in his arm.

He read out the messages sent from well wishers, from friends and fellow cops, trying to tease Danny's consciousness with his own imagined translation of the flowery girlish handwriting on a card that arrived from Poland..._I think she may be sending you undying love, you dog! She's after a pen-friend..._

In the frightening silence of Danny's unresponsiveness, Steve had ordered him to wake up... "_You know, I am your boss...now, just open those damned eyes Detective!"_

In the earliest days, when the shock was still so raw he'd even whispered prayers to a God he hadn't really believed in since childhood... _"Please, please...You're a father, he's a father...don't take him...help him..."_

Steve wanted to believe it could all make a difference. In Grace he found a partner in determination.

Grace saw her Daddy's unconscious state as a challenge and later on the day of her first visit had turned up with a book in her hand and a plan in her head.

"We've already read this one," she'd informed Steve earnestly. "We're nearly half way through the second book. They're my favorite. Daddy always reads to me when I stay with him. He does all the voices and everything. Stan gave me the CD's, and I've listened to them all, but I like it best when Daddy reads it."

She'd pulled the chair a little closer to the bedside and looked at him eagerly.

"He'd be really sad if he misses anything important so I think we should just start all over again from the beginning." She'd waved Harry Potter and The Sorcerer's Stone in Steve's face and, with that, he became Danny's stand-in and they began their now daily routine.

Rachel had taken Grace out of school. Steve had been mildly surprised at her willingness to do so but she seemed to have been infected with the little girl's determination that this would help Danny wake up. So, she dropped her at the hospital in the morning, called back to take her for lunch and returned her to Steve afterwards. Sometimes Rachel stayed on for a while, gazing at Danny's still form, listening in to Steve's storytelling, but more often, for the past four days and like now, it was just Grace and Steve.

"Do it a bit squeakier."

Steve began again but barely got halfway into Voldermort's speech.

"No, no. It has to be sort of hissy...like a snake. 'Cos he kind of looks like a snake and in the next book there's a snake and he controls it. Danno does it hissy." Grace had adopted a patient, instructional tone as they had progressed through the book. Steve always acquiesced and, secretly, he really felt he was improving. Certainly, Grace's criticism seemed less constant.

Grace didn't seem to mind how the kids sounded - Harry, Ron and Hermione came out with standard midwest accents, despite the origins of their author or the setting of the story. But the adult characters had to be just right... "_just like Danno does."_

"A snake, eh..."

He slid his hand around her and squiggled a finger up her side, under her plaits, and around her neck. She giggled and squirmed against him, wriggling forwards to escape the tickling.

Then she was up.

"**Danno!**"

_Danny reached for the voices...what is that?... He felt an urgent and instinctive need thrumming through him...Escape...He was aware of a pressure, an intangible weight pressing on his consciousness... Escape...First blackness, then a whiteness that hurt, as bright fingertips of pain and awareness poked and teased at his edges. For a time he resisted, fighting the swirling fog of feelings, trying to assimilate the senses and emotions that filled him and pressed on him. But those voices dragged him forwards...I know you, I know you, I know you..._

Huge brown eyes fixed on his. Blurred images emerged from the intense light. Movement.

Steve rose beside Grace..._I know you._

Danny's eyes were open, his head tilted slightly towards them, his mouth and throat working as if to form words but no sound came.

"**You're awake!**" Grace's voice was shrill with excitement. She turned to look up at Steve. "See, I told you he'd wake up today...Didn't I tell you?...I was right! …See?" He didn't correct her or point out that she'd been saying the same thing many times each day. Her childish optimism had been a light in the dark anxiety that filled him.

Danny's hand twitched slightly. A tiny, tiny movement but to the pair watching it meant everything. It meant life.

…._I know you._..

Grace stepped forward as if to throw herself on her father and Steve quickly reached an arm out to stop her.

"Careful," he warned gently.

She beamed up at him then turned her smile to Danny once more. "We've been waiting and waiting for you to wake up," she admonished with delight. "You're a sleepy head!" she laughed.

Danny's blue eyes were glazed but settled on his daughter, blinking slowly... _Gracie!.._The clarity of recognition was like a breeze blowing at the mists in his head..._Gracie!..._He wanted to touch her but she might have been miles away and he had no sense of how to move.

Steve rested his hands on Grace's shoulders.

"Grace, the doctors are going to want to know your Dad's awake – could you just go get the nurse out there for me, and get them to put out a call?" He nodded towards the nurses' station in the corridor.

She nodded happily, turned and ran out of the door and Steve stepped into the space she left. Danny's gaze lifted slowly from where his daughter had just been, to Steve's face.

"Hey." Steve greeted his friend softly, laying a hand on Danny's shoulder and squeezing it gently. "It's good to see you, buddy."

His voice quavered with the relief that consumed him in a wave but, in Danny's face, he saw pain, confusion and the beginnings of panic.

"Hey, you're okay, Danny. It's okay...There's a whole gang of doctors who are going to want to check you over." He smiled down as Danny's brow dented in concentration, fighting to keep his eyes open. Steve became aware of Grace already heading back with a nurse at her side. "You were shot, Danny, but you're gonna be okay – we're here for you...I'm here for you."

Steve couldn't tell whether Danny even registered his words before he was shunted aside by the bustle of activity that quickly swarmed around the bed. He grabbed Grace and they stood, backs to the wall, and waited once more.

Noise and movement, demands and questions and reassurances ..._enough_...Danny quickly slipped back into sleep again but from then on the routine of recovery was changed.

The Five-0 team had returned to more normal work hours, but Steve was still there first thing in the morning and through the evenings, as well as any hours free in between.

Grace returned to school but was back as soon as Rachel could deliver her. Steve's reading duties were over as she and Danny picked up where they'd left off with Harry and his mates before the shooting. He tired easily but Grace wouldn't have anyone else read to her now. Occasionally catching some of it, Steve had to admit his partner's Hagrid was better than his would ever be and, what's more, Danny clearly didn't share his embarrassment at doing that kind of stuff.

"Thole? What kind of a word is thole?" Danny's voice was growing in strength. His body was still weak..._Yeah, you stubborn New Jersey tough guy, losing more than a third of your blood will do that to you..._But it was no surprise to Steve that his verbosity was returning. Even bedridden and exhausted ..._and yes, dammit, still sick!..._Danny was able to make his mark.

"That is a made up word. That is some word you think I might think is a military word and let you get away with. A secret word used only by you SEAL types. Or a boating word. Or a bit of a boat. But I know it's a made up word and there's no way we can let you get away with that." Danny turned to Grace at his side. "Can we!"

Steve knew he'd lost this one. Grace would always back her Danno.

"Man that is low...it's just low! What kind of code do you live by that you can cheat at Scrabble? It's a game – a kids game!" Danny still managed to pack a punch even lying in a semi-reclined position. His hands joined in the diatribe, albeit with somewhat less animation than his usual physical punctuation. The needle taped into the back of his left hand, was an obvious restriction. The narrow tube attached to it wiggled with every movement.

"It is a nautical term...A thole is a pin used to make the fulcrum for an oar," Steve interjected. "Can I help it if you don't have the grip of the English language you like to pretend you have? Won't you just consider for one moment," Steve raised his own hand to stop another imminent interruption... "just for one moment, that you don't know every word ever spoken...even though sometimes I think you try to get every single one in during the course of your rants." Steve whispered the last part, loudly, in Grace's direction with a pointed look at her father. She giggled from her position on Danny's bedside and watched the two men with sparkling, delighted eyes.

"I do not rant...I explain...I clarify...I define and elucidate." He took a breath and Steve was struck by how pale he still looked, how thin and ill... _But mending..._ he reminded himself.

Danny looked down at the lettered tiles in front of him and then to the board on the tray over his bed. He tapped the empty colored squares at the bottom right end of the trailing crossword displayed there, then cleared his voice and tried to raise himself up a little straighter in the bed. He handed his daughter six of their shared seven letters. "Put those on there, Gracie.

It had been a long day of tests, tests and more tests. And physio ..._painful manhandling more like_!.._couldn't a guy who got shot be left alone for a while_...Danny was impatient but resigned to his continued therapies and monitoring. If he was honest, he was still in some pain and felt as weak as a kitten.

If he was honest, he was plagued by nightmares and a heavy dread of what-ifs and maybes. A psychologist had stopped by to encourage him to talk such things through but Danny wasn't the sort to reveal too much to strangers. This was the sort of thing that would come out only with family. Or friends.

He looked forward now to those regular evenings at Steve's home – they'd developed an easy communication that, after the traditional opening salvos of verbal one upmanship and during the course of a few beers, the pair both relied upon for relaxation.

He hadn't been allowed out of bed in the five days since he first woke. Admittedly, the first day and a half he hadn't really stayed awake for more than a few minutes at a time. But now, the constant talk of urine output, and the doctors' interest in the machinery that collected it, was downright embarrassing.

Steve had laughed but acted quickly when he'd asked him to throw a blanket over the offending bag at his bedside …. "_Cover it up for God's sake, you think I want my daughter seeing that?"_

There was no talk of him being allowed to leave hospital for a while yet. For Steve that meant trying to keep him entertained and that's what had led to Scrabble. In a hospital unit where electronic games could interfere with life saving equipment it had come down to an old fashioned version that Steve's father had hoarded from his own childhood.

"I think you'll find that, with that double letter there, that's eighteen points. And we're on a triple word score – that's fifty four points. Count 'em and weep, SEALboy!"

"Qintars?...What the He..." Steve stopped himself at Danny's sharp look. "What the heck are qintars? Who's making up words now? It can't be a word – It hasn't even got a u after the q!"

Danny finished helping Grace add their word onto an existing one …"_Skrewts? Really?"..."Hey! They're in Harry Potter – they're real!... _then lay back against his pillows with a smug grin.

"Qintars are an Albanian currency." Danny's tone was triumphant. "And, Mr I'veTravelledTheWorld, Mr Ain'tNowhereIHaven'tBeenInTheArmy, you should know, the word doesn't have a u in it!"

He didn't add a "HA!" but Steve heard it anyway.

"The Navy," he muttered his usual correction, but nobody was listening to him now as Danny and Grace high-fived each other.

"Danno's the best Scrabble player in the whole of New Jersey," Grace laughed. "He's got a medal and everything," she added.

"Not the _whole_ of New Jersey, Monkey," Danny amended, still grinning annoyingly at Steve. "Just of my grandfather's old folks' home." He shrugged. "Used to visit him twice a week when I was a kid and this is what we did to pass the time. Used to play all his friends there too. They had competitions, prizes. Being as cute as I was," he made an angelic face at Grace that made her giggle, "they all wanted me on their team. Man, they were demons of the dictionary I can tell you."

Danny shook his head at the memory. "But none of them ever used the word thole," he added with an irritating finger jab of finality.

No need to explain the joy of the close relationship he'd had with his grandfather, or that he had continued to visit some of the other elderly residents even after he'd died. He'd even persuaded a couple of his teenage friends to accompany him for the fun of those raucous games evenings they'd shared. You could learn a lot from the older generation...dirty jokes, dating advice, patience. And love... _No, Steve doesn't need to know that._

"I think we won," Grace said. She yawned as she carefully added up and noted down their large total on a piece of paper torn from an old readout of her father's heart rate.

It was late. Danny reached a hand out to stroke her head and looked up at Steve.

"I think this one's had enough," he said. "You think you could find Rachel for us?"

"Yeah, _she's_ had enough," Steve said pointedly.

He'd noticed Danny flagging too, eyes and limbs heavy and his voice becoming strained with exhaustion..._ But improving_... His unspoken self reminders were still a daily mantra..._He's going to be okay...it's all going to be okay..._

When he returned with Rachel five minutes later, father and daughter were both sleeping.

Grace was curled up against Danny, almost on top of him. His arm around her, her's draped over him. She had pulled down the neck of his hospital gown and her small hand was spayed on his broad chest just above the sensors still taped in place. Her fingers were moving slightly, slowly twirling through the mass of blond hair there.

From the end of the bed, Rachel huffed a soft laugh.

"He could always do that." She nodded at the pair with awe. "When she was a baby, when she woke up screaming with colic, or I just couldn't get her to go down after a feed or when she was teething, he could always just ...do that." She was smiling at the image.

"He'd walk around with her for hours, holding her like that. Or he'd just lay back and put her on top of him and she'd twiddle his hair like that and drift off to the sound of him breathing. When she was old enough to talk, she called him Danno Bear – he was always her favorite soft toy." Rachel turned to Steve. "It took him a long time to persuade her to drop the Bear bit."

Steve's face split into a broad smile. "That's nice," he said, and he really meant it. This was pure gold.

A weight lifted as thoughts of this friendship filled Steve with a familiar warmth that he'd been missing, that he realized they both needed.

Danno Bear was definitely worth treasuring.

_Danny ...man, you may have a Scrabble medal, but this...this is going to be priceless! _

_**END**_

**Thank you so much for reading and reviewing - it's great to see your thoughts.**


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